The cacophony of battle had beaten at Merry every bit as viciously as the orcs had, and when he finally fell into darkness from one blow too many, he carried the bone-aching din with him. Under healing hands and a radiant light that seeped into his very bones, the sound began to fade, though it grew irritatingly sibilant and piercing. It sounded so much like the scolding biddies at home going on about the latest scandal that Merry was jarred awake, worried that everything since running from Farmer Maggot was a dream.
It didn't help that Pippin was with him, snoring softly into his ear, just as he should be. But their positions were switched from the way they usually were. Merry lay on his unhurt side, head pillowed on Pip's shoulder, bad arm resting on his chest, and he was pinned to the bedding by one of Pip's legs thrown over his waist. Comfortable as he was, the position didn't afford him much of a view of things, and the hissing voices were growing more strident.
Moving slowly, as much because of the pain he could feel lying in wait for him as because he didn't want whomever as speaking to know he was awake, he inched up until he could see over Pippin. Big Folk, all female, scarf-covered heads close together as the clucked and tsked, were making all the fuss. With some effort he put meaning into their clatter.
"Tain't proper, I tell you. 'Taint proper at all," one matronly woman said, wringing her hands.
"They may be just lads, but as the twig is bent, the tree grows," another agreed with her.
"True, true." They all clucked the word together and for an instant, Merry wouldn't have been surprised if the whole flock of them actually ruffled feathers and flapped wings in agitation.
The notion died quickly when one of them took a step forward, hands out-reached. "We must do something; we simply cannot allow this... this... *indecency.*"
Finally understanding that they were disturbed by the way he and Pippin were curled together, Merry tensed, ready to strike out at the first one who dared touch either of them. He'd claim later that he'd thought himself still under attack on the battlefield, which wasn't that far from the truth, in his opinion.
Before she could move closer, a soft voice spoke up from the other side of Pippin. "I would not do that, my lady."
"Captain Faramir!" Outrage forgotten, she and the rest fluttered to another pallet. Merry watched them cluster around a heavily bandaged Man.
Merry blinked suddenly misty eyes, heart twisting in pain, and he reached for the Man, willing to swear that it was Boromir lying on the cot. There were even bandages over the same areas Merry had seen stricken by arrows. His hand dropped before it could lift too far, and curled into a fist. The woman had called him "Faramir," and another blink brought his face into proper focus for Merry to see a younger, fairer Man, with a slighter build than his much missed companion.
His brother then, Merry thought, and was glad when the old gossip laid a gentle hand on the Man's forehead. "Your fever has broken, my lord, and the healers say that you will mend if you will but rest."
Eyelids drooping, Faramir said, "It seems I have little choice for the nonce. But I will rest better if I know you will not disturb the Pheriannath. It is the way of their kind to look after one another thus when far from their own land." At her expression of distaste, he added, "After all, they are a small Folk among much larger peoples, and too easily mistaken for children when they are warriors grown."
She jerked upright, her mouth a blade-thin line.
No doubt her words would have been as sharp, but before she could unleash her bile at learning it was not 'lads' so intimately entwined, Faramir went on, his voice fading, but clear for all that. "I would tread carefully with them in any case. The one in Tower livery rides with Mithrandir; it is not wise to offend one who has the ear of a wizard."
Her look of dismay was so comical, Merry had to drop back down to hide his face against Pippin, lest he laugh out loud. The whole thing reminded him far too much of the many times the two of them had lain in bed pretending sleep while their parents debated waking them to rebuke them for their latest mischief. The major difference was that during the exchange between Faramir and the woman, Pippin's hand had crept down to the hilt of the weapon he carried.
Peeking up through his lashes, Merry saw that wonderfully wicked grin of Pippin's in place, and his flash of humor became something warmer and deeper. Mayhap Pippin had grown up a great deal if he thought to reach for a sword to make his point, but his Pip was still there as well, and that was a very comforting thought. He had often wondered what sort of adult Hobbit the irrepressible Took would be when he left his tweener years - and if he would love him as much. Now he knew, and he did, and Merry let sleep take him, content for now to have Pip watch over him.
Much later, pain woke Merry, playing along his bones, especially in his arm. Darkness and cold didn't help; without thinking he reached out for Pippin's warmth, only to grasp at empty space. That pulled a cry from him when the pain could not, and he would have struggled to his feet to search for him if Faramir hadn't spoken.
"Master Took swore himself to service in honor of the Son of the Steward, who fell defending him."
Carefully turning to face Faramir, Merry again thought that Boromir had come back to them, the feeling so strong that he blurted, "You have the look of your brother about you, especially about the eyes."
Faramir winced as if the words had been blows, but said quietly, "Lord Denethor would not hear details of his son's journey or its end, and though Gandalf would have told me all had I but asked, other matters were too pressing. If you are wakeful, perhaps you would tell me of my brother's last days?"
"Would that not cause you more grief?" Merry asked, creeping to the very edge of his cot so that he could whisper and not disturb the sleeping injured.
Faramir clearly gave the question serious consideration before answering, "Yes, but it will soothe it too, to think of him and share the tales of his life."
"Aye," Merry agreed, thinking it through.
Though he knew he must tread lightly where Frodo and the Ring were concerned, there was much Merry could share - Boromir teaching swordplay to him and Pippin, the time they tempted him into trying pipeweed, being carried through the deep snow at Caradhras. Those were the moments he spoke of, and they seemed to be just what Faramir needed to hear. Peace crept over his features as he listened, occasionally asking a question, and once or twice he smiled, the same rare, shy smile that Boromir had shown.
Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, Pippin came back to bed, tucked himself behind Merry, and leaned up on one elbow, head in hand. He added his own quips and observations, and the three of them talked until false dawn began to lighten the room. Merry hesitated, wanting to honor Faramir's request before he slept again, but he didn't know how to touch upon what happened at Emyn Muil.
To his surprise, Pippin murmured into his ear, "He met Sam and Frodo, and found the strength to turn away from the Ring. His father did not look kindly on him for it."
"We cannot speak of that here," Merry muttered back.
"No, we cannot," Faramir agreed, apparently guessing at least some of what would come next. "But I think it is best to lance a wound quickly. Tell me what you can."
Pippin's hand slipped over Merry's waist to clutch tightly in his nightshirt. "There were Uruk Hai, so many and so strong, a great wave of them that swept us up and away. The last we knew of Boromir, he was pierced with many arrows, surrounded by a multitude of fallen enemies, awaiting his death blow. For his final breath, there are others you must speak to. I have not had the heart to ask them."
"We tried to help," Merry added sadly. "But we were just two small Hobbits caught up in a quest too great for even Elves and Men."
Inexplicably Pippin gave him a shake. "Yet it was a Hobbit who struck a telling blow against the Witch King, or so Strider says from the sign left behind."
"My Lady Eowyn," Merry gasped, astonished he had not thought of her before now.
"Grievously wounded," Pippin said. "And troubled by the same poison that hurts you. It's a kind of despair that sits on the bones like ice, draining all strength of will and good spirits from you. Strider says that you cannot be allowed to dwell on sad thoughts."
"A weapon of old of the enemy," Faramir said. He grimaced, obviously to hide a yawn, added curiously, "Your lady?"
"That part of the tale will have to wait," Merry said, unabashedly yawning.
"No doubt there'll be an opportunity for you to share it later," Pippin said. "For now, rest, and I'll see if I can't manage a proper first breakfast for you. Or *a* breakfast, in any case."
Sleep took Merry unaware, so he did as told whether he would or not.
***
Pippin proved true to his word. Not long after Merry had finished off the watered gruel he had been told was his breakfast, the wonderful smell of cooked mushrooms, eggs, and bacon hit his nose. Painfully pulling himself into a sitting position, he looked around for Pippin, guiltily debating whether or not he should wake Faramir to share the bounty. He caught sight of the bearers of his meal and forgot everything but joy.
"Leogolas! Gimli!" Merry caroled, all hurt forgotten as he went to his knees, bedding pooling around him.
"You young rascal," Gimli said gruffly, giving what was, for him, a gentle thump to Merry's shoulder that was enough to send Merry into Legolas' waiting hands.
"It is good to see you," Legolas murmured, setting him aright.
"I thought never to see any of you again," Merry said honestly, automatically reaching for the dish Gimli held in one gloved hand. "Once they told me of the path you had chosen to take with Strider."
Dropping down to sit beside him, Gimli said, "Many a strange and uncanny way we have trod on our journey, yet none so dreadful as that. The dead followed us, Master Hobbit, followed and fought with the honor lost to them long ago."
"Tell me," Merry pleaded.
To his surprise, Gimli stared down at the ground, hands clenching on his axe-handles. It was Legolas who said, "Eat, and I will tell you what I can." He looked into a distance only Elves could see, and added, "Though much is beyond what words may express."
Feeding himself almost by habit and hardly tasting it at all, much to his later dismay, Merry listened, eyes wide as any Hobbit child's while hearing Bilbo tell of Dragons or Trolls. Swallowing hard on the last bite, long gone cold, when Legolas finished, Merry stared at the floor with no idea what to say. It was all - not just the Dead, but Ents, Oliphants, everything - all overwhelming.
From behind him Faramir said wonderingly, "A Dwarf there was also, and an Elf."
Merry felt Gimli start as he looked over him to Faramir, who was cautiously turning to his side to face them. With the ride through the Dimholt Road so close in his mind, Merry couldn't help but wonder if Gimli thought he faced Boromir's shade in that moment. His expression mellowed almost instantly, and Legolas said, "Captain Faramir," with warmth enough that Merry knew Pippin must have had his own chance to trade news with them. That would save quite a bit of explanation between all parties, he thought in relief, not wanting to retrace ground already painfully covered.
Confirming Merry's guess, Leoglas added, "Pippin has said that you wish to know of your brother's last moments. There is another who should speak to you of that, but if you wish, we will tell you of our journeying with him."
"Whatever you wish to share would be of interest to me," Faramir said with grave courtesy.
Curling in on himself, blanket pulled up to his chin, Merry drifted in and out of a doze as Legolas and Gimli talked with Faramir, truly interested in how they had seen their days of travel with the Fellowship, but too tired and sore to stay completely awake. At some point, Pippin crawled into his cot with him, his warmth and comforting arms making it even harder to keep alert. But when Legolas spoke of hearing Boromir's horn sound, grief and anger drove away any chance of rest, and would have consumed Merry whole if not for Pip's steadying presence.
"We arrived too late to do more than see to his comfort for his last moments. I know not what the custom of the Men of Gondor is," Legolas finished, leaning forward as if to reassure Faramir that they had given the matter serious thought, "but the earth was too stony for a grave, and it would have taken far too long to build a rock cairn. The Uruk Hai had Merry and Pippin, and we could not tarry long if we were to have any hope of overtaking them. It was thought best to give him to the river, a custom of old of Men of that area, and we placed him, body prepared as best we could, weapons in hand, and the cloven Horn of Gondor at his side, in one of the boats gifted to us by the Elves of Lothlorien."
"The river," Faramir muttered dazedly. "You gave him to the river, and that is where I saw him in a dream, just as you said. Lovingly arrayed, sword hilt in hands crossed on his breast, lit all around by the purest light." He closed his eyes, shuddering, and added, "His vambraces were missing, and the horn floated past me on its own. When it was found and brought to my father, I knew the dream to be truth."
"A dream?" Legolas asked, and Merry thought him now troubled in some way. "I have heard that some of your people were gifted with dreams of foretelling, long ago. I did not know that any remained who were so blessed."
"Rare, very rare," Faramir agreed. "But both my brother and I have dreamed so, though neither of us has ever seen much use in the knowledge they bring." He winced, obviously realizing that he had spoken of Boromir as if he were still with them; in an odd way, it felt to Merry as if he were.
It was a very unsettling notion, and Merry burrowed into Pippin, chasing after the rest that he had been striving to avoid. The day fled by, broken into pieces by periods of awareness spent talking with Faramir - whenever they were both awake at the same time - or with Pippin in short spurts as duty allowed him. In that way Merry learned how Pip and Gandalf had spent the days parted from him, and his heart ached with both pride and sympathy for the hard hours Pip had survived. Occasionally he was fed more gruel, making him bitterly regret the missed flavors of his second breakfast. By the day's finish he was chafing to leave the Halls of Healing, and find a better use for himself than taking up space the more seriously injured might use.
To that end, Merry moved about as best he could, taking tentative steps at first and not being so careless as to get far from a place to seat himself if dizziness should overtake him. Breathing was a difficult affair, but he quickly learned to take long, sipping breaths that spared his protesting ribs. Being on his feet helped, and he honestly thought a proper meal might do more. After all, Hobbits were meant to eat well and regularly; going without must sap his strength for healing. At least, that was his reasoning.
When Strider appeared carrying a bowl of something savory smelling, Merry all but leaped for him. Strider laughed heartily, which pleased Merry as much as the meal. "Finally!" he exclaimed. "Someone who knows the proper care a Hobbit needs!"
"I am endeavoring to instruct the Healers," Strider said solemnly, eyes sparkling with humor despite his tone. "They are of a mind that bed rest and a soft diet that does not tax the body to digest is the only way to ensure a complete recovery."
Digging in without further ado, Merry mumbled around a mouthful, "Lose many patients, do they?"
"There has been a shortage of Haflings in Gondor," Faramir said dryly from his cot. "Perhaps in the future that lack can be corrected, to our Healer's benefit."
Strider swung around to see who spoke. Humor faded quickly. "Captain Faramir," he acknowledged. "I am told you wish a word with me."
"If the time can be spared," Faramir said with a diffidence that surprised Merry.
Strider knelt beside the cot and placed his hands over Faramir's. "For Gondor's Steward, I shall always be available."
Thus did Faramir discover the depth of his loss, with healing hands supporting him and Merry beside him offering what faint comfort he could. "You must count your father as one of the fallen soldiers," Strider said at the end. "Just as Theoden King lost his strength to whispers to his fear of aged weakness, Denethor lost his wits to whispers to his pride. Both were poison, insidious and slow, and all the more potent here in Gondor because of the city's proximity to Mordor."
"Theoden King fought back," Faramir said tiredly. "If Boromir had returned safely to our father, perhaps he would have found the will in the end to do the same."
Outraged, Merry smacked his bowl down, deliberately making a clatter. "And perhaps if I flap my arms hard enough, I'll be able to fly home like one of the Nazgul and be free of this nonsense! I love Boromir dearly, but pride was his downfall as well. Likely Denethor would have found as foolish a use for Boromir as he did for you, madness creating a just cause in his mind."
"Merry..." Faramir began.
"No, do not let grief overshadow the truth," Strider broke in. "Long has Sauron laid his plans; long has he pondered every possibility, every likely turn. Our best weapon against him is the one the Haflings seem to know at the core of themselves: Find joy in life, love deeply when you love, and fight for what is good. In the end, that was what returned honor to Boromir. He would expect you to do no less."
Eyes bright with unshed tears, Faramir turned away, but Merry guessed Strider's words had struck home, for he did not debate them. Strider stood and, with a last friendly clap to Merry's shoulder, made his way to the small pavilion set to one side of the main hall, where Lady Eowyn lay recuperating from her wounds. Marking to himself that he should look in on her again, whether she was conscious or not, Merry returned to his own bed to settle in for the night.
Torches were put out and fires banked, giving the room a shadowed gloom. Merry wasn't really surprised when Faramir asked, clearly wanting company, "You said you love - loved my brother."
"He feels so close," Merry said, eyes drifting shut to see Boromir vividly with his mind's eye. "As though speaking of him all day has brought him nearer, not just to the heart, but to the spirit as well, so that saying 'loved' feels wrong. I love him still, as does Pippin."
"Yes, yes, that's it," Faramir agreed, sounding pleased and unsettled in the same breath. "He is with us, if hidden, as though, his affairs in life are not settled."
"Ah, Boromir," Merry sighed, and he thought he heard an answering whisper of "Merry." He said, "We thought Gandalf lost in Moria; could Boromir be returned to us as well? Lacking a wizard's power, he might not be able to complete the journey as easily."
"What harm to ask?" Faramir said. "Perhaps Pippin could question Gandalf for us?"
Merry smiled. "If it can be done without the inquisitor being changed to something loathsome, Pippin is the one to accomplish it. Gandalf has always been surprisingly tolerant of him, even at his angriest. Did I tell you about their first meeting?"
Later, when Faramir slept, Merry happily pondered the relationship between two such dissimilar beings as a Hobbit and a Wizard until Pippin joined him. Letting him settle down comfortably before broaching the topic of Boromir haunting them, Merry told him everything, not hiding his uneasiness at the possibility.
"Aye, that is how it's been, isn't it?" Pippin said sleepily. "I thought it was just me. It may be better for all of us to say as much to Gandalf, each in turn. For all that has happened recently, I'm still a fool of a Took to him, if one he's very fond of."
"Perhaps not as much a fool to him as he would have you believe," Merry countered.
Rising up on one elbow to stare down at him, Pippin thought hard, then grinned. "Perhaps." He grew serious again and added, "With all that is left to be done, it would be better to wait until more important matters have been seen to."
There was too much wisdom in that observation to argue, and Merry pulled Pip back down to him, letting the issue subside to the back of his thoughts. It lay there restlessly over the course of his recovery, rising to the forefront at the strangest of moments, especially given how grave circumstances were in the world. By the time he had seen Sauron's tower fall, and Eagles deliver two frail, battered Hobbits to safety, the idea of Boromir being caught between life and death had become as faint as a dream.
***
Not until he went to visit Frodo, leaving Pippin sleeping in their bed after wonderful noontime lovemaking, did his fear for Boromir rush back to Merry. He happened upon Frodo in the corridor closest to one of the enclosed gardens, and rushed gladly toward him. But his cousin was not alone. Faramir was with him, head hanging, chin almost to his chest, speaking too softly for Merry to overhear.
Fear clutched at Merry, for he could conjure all to easily the harsh words that the two might exchange. To his shock, Faramir went to his knees before Frodo, misery in every line of his body. Unable to bear it, Merry hurried to them in time to hear Frodo say with sweet gentleness, "There is nothing to forgive; not then, not now, not ever. For Boromir's sake, and for my own, I would not have you believe that he did any wrong to me or mine."
"He tried to take the Ring," Faramir said wretchedly.
"No. The Ring took him. Look at me, Faramir; look at me!" When he did as told, Frodo went on. "I was one small Hobbit, and he was a warrior of great strength and cunning. If he had truly wished to force the Ring from me, I would not have been able to stop him. Even in his madness, he fought still against the Ring's evil influence, and he won, or I would not be here! None of us would be."
"Frodo... "
"Perhaps it was unwitting," Fro said insistently, "but Boromir put my feet on the path they must take when fear and weakness kept me from doing so myself. Nor did he pursue me, as I am sure the Ring demanded he do. Instead he chose to defend my cousins, and in so doing, convinced the Uruk Hai that Merry and Pippin were the Hobbits they sought, for why else would a soldier of his skill protect them? That misconception allowed Sam and me to escape, and *that* put Merry and Pippin, along with so many others, on the roads they were fated to travel. In a very real way, we owe the defeat of Sauron to Boromir. Never forget that."
"Then why does my brother linger here in spirit?" Faramir said in despair. "Why do I dream of him standing with his head bowed in shame over bare hands, red blood covering them?"
Putting his hands on Faramir's shoulders from behind as Frodo did the same from the front, Merry said flatly, "I don't know, but every word Frodo has said is the simple truth."
"Aye." Sam came out of Frodo's room, where he'd apparently been listening to the entire conversation. "If you hadn't know what the Ring did to Boromir, would *you* have been able to let us go?"
"I..."Faramir hesitated, gaze flitting away, only to come back and fasten on Sam. "Also, I could see what would become of Frodo if I did not; that he would become another Gollum, in the end."
Finding a smile, weak but true, Frodo said, "Then let us speak no more of blame or guilt, for any parties."
"Yourself included, Mr. Frodo," Sam put in stoutly.
Slanting a glance at him, smile becoming stronger, Frodo agreed, "All parties." Giving Faramir a nudge to urge him to stand, he went on, "As for your thought that Boromir lingers...."
"We should speak to Gandalf of that," Merry said sternly, "as we intended all along." To Frodo he added, "Pip and I have felt it as well, and unless I am greatly mistaken, Leoglas is concerned to some degree himself."
"Elvish boat," Sam muttered to the floor.
"Come," Frodo said firmly. "Now is as good a time as any; I was to meet Gandalf in the garden to share a pipe."
Laughing, Merry said, "Then Pip will be there, as well."
***
Merry's guess proved correct. When Frodo told him he wished to discuss Boromir's fate, Gandalf merely raised his brows and took a contemplative puff on his pipe. After a moment's thought, he sent Pippin to fetch Strider, Legolas and Gimli, who were all meeting with counselors to discuss rebuilding the city. Heads together, Merry, Sam and Frodo compared notes on what each of them knew about the many interwoven happenings since the Fellowship had broken, but had no opportunity to do more than touch lightly on a few things before the others arrived. Gandalf heard each of them out, chewing on the stem of his pipe and asking the odd question or two to clarify matters in his own mind.
When they were done, he knocked the ash from the bowl, put his pipe away, and said, "Men may not come back, but they may be unable to depart completely. With his body protected by the power inherent in the boat, and his spirit touched by the malevolence of the Ring, what you fear may well be possible."
"What can we do?" Pippin blurted and Merry said with him, "Not nothing, surely!"
"I would never so poorly treat one who has done so much for Middle-earth, my lads," Gandalf said solemnly. "What remains to be decided is *how,* and possibly *when,* not if."
"Before the coronation," Strider said quietly. "I would like to see all the Fellowship properly acknowledged and lauded, so that my people will know in full the valor that bought them their freedom."
"Yes, before the coronation," Gandalf said, Legolas murmuring an agreement in the background. Something underneath Gandalf's tone raised the short hairs on the back of Merry's neck. "All will change on that day, mostly for the good, but it will be the end of the Fellowship as it was when we set out from Rivendell."
Clearly surprised, as was Gimli to judge by his gruff, "humph!," Sam daringly touched the pure white of Gandalf's sleeve. "As it was! Begging your pardon, seems to me nothing the same, especially us!"
"Yet we are bound still to one another by ties that have survived despite all." Gandalf stood. "Off with you. I have much to consider and precious little time to do so." He shooed them out - Strider included, much to his amusement. Strider led them to a sitting room in his own chambers and called to a servant for food and drink.
In short order the Fellowship, with Faramir willingly standing in for his brother, was exchanging accounts of their adventures, remarking now and again that they must especially remember to tell Bilbo this bit or that. Once or twice courtiers came to remind Strider of some obligation currently being neglected, and he sincerely thanked them for their kindness before pointing out that his duty to the Ring-bearer took precedence. Frodo looked positively stricken the first time he did so, but the wink Strider sent his way behind the courtier's back saw to that nicely. From then on, whenever Strider made his pronouncement, Frodo would nod austerely at whomever was at the door, doing an excellent imitation of an Elf at his most inscrutable. This amused the Elf present to no end, along with everyone else.
All in all, Merry decided, well into his third plate of food and uncounted cups of ale, it was as cheery an evening as any he had spent at the Green Dragon, and better than some. An underlying air of expectancy, as if they were waiting for the arrival of another, much welcomed guest, added to the atmosphere of festivity. When Gandalf joined them, carrying a small winesack that he shared out to all, he did nothing to disrupt their impromptu party, and instead added his own merriment to the affair, blowing incredible smoke rings and distributing small squibs that flashed and popped in a very satisfying manner.
The delicious wine was the most fragrant Merry had ever tasted - and the most potent. Oddly, it didn't make him dizzy or clumsy; he relaxed so completely that his entire body was limp, yet his mind was as clear as ever. It seemed to have the same effect on the others. Even Aragorn lolled in his high-backed chair. Legolas leaned against Aragorn's legs, humming contentedly to himself. Stretched on his side on a couch, Gimli played with Legolas' hair, twining the bright strands around a hand that was uncharacteristically bare of gauntlet or weapon.
Leaning into Strider's arm from the opposite side of the chair, Sam stared down into his now empty cup, then licked his lips. "This puts me in mind of that Kingsfoil you have so many uses for."
"It is a cordial made from that herb," Gandalf said between puffs. "I acquired it a very long time ago, left it in the King's wine cellar to age, then promptly forgot all about until I went in search of a good vineyard for tonight."
"Our good luck," Pippin said hastily from his end of the settee. He had his head on Faramir's shoulder - who looked down at him bemusedly - and his feet tucked under Merry's thighs, kneading absently.
Head in Sam's lap, Frodo hummed an agreement, and reached out to pat Faramir's arm. "If you don't want him using you for a support, please feel free to push him off. By now he's quite used to it, as he will take advantage of anyone willing to keep him upright."
"The floor's hard and cold," Pippin said reasonably.
"And your position suites my purposes quite well," Gandalf said, suddenly extremely serious. "Everyone please remain exactly as you are."
His tone would have frozen Merry in place, even if his request had not. Before anyone could think to question him, Gandalf took Merry's hand in his and shifted so that he could do the same with Gimli. A sensation - for the life of him, Merry was never able to better describe the feeling that spiked through him from Gandalf's hand to his thigh where Pippin's feet were - traveled from one person to the next where each touched, marked by jerks and gasps of shock. When it returned to Gandalf, closing what Merry would realize much, much later was a circle made by body in contact with body, the world went away.
All was light that came from no apparent source, a honey-thick and satin-soft brightness that hummed and vibrated against the ear and eye in an extraordinary way. As beautiful as it was, the peace and joy that the light carried deep into him was better, and for that reason alone Merry was willing to wait unquestioningly for whatever this wonder might herald.
Very, very quietly, as if he whispered directly into Merry's ear, Gandalf said, "We have until the first star is hidden by morning's coming light. Use the hours wisely."
His words took on weight and presence, slowly shaping themselves into a form that Merry recognized instantly. He would have cried out in welcoming elation, but he could not. He was held by a cushion of warm resistance that would not give way, though it cradled him gently. The same force seemed to hold Boromir in place as well; that or he was asleep, for his eyes were closed and his hands were crossed on his chest.
With a start of pain, Merry realized that Boromir's position was the same he must have been in when the boat carrying him was committed to the river. Before that pain could twist through him, another person appeared gradually from the light, limned lovingly with a brighter, sharper glow as he came closer. It was Frodo, not as Merry knew him now, but as the carefree Hobbit from before Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday party. Yet there was enormous sadness and wisdom in his eyes, as though the experiences since that time remained with him.
Frodo stood in front of Boromir for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Hesitantly he placed both palms flat on the Man's chest.
Boromir's eyes shot open and he took a sucking breath, agony evident in his expression. It faded quickly, leaving confusion that just as rapidly turned to understanding... and sorrowed disgrace. His lips shaped Frodo's name, though Merry heard no sound, nor the answer that Frodo must have made. Boromir sank slowly to his knees in front of him, in eerie imitation of what his brother had done. Merry no longer had any doubt that Boromir had lingered close to them, either called by their love or driven by his own guilt. Or, perhaps, both.
As with Faramir, Frodo put his hands on Boromir's shoulders, and Merry knew he was repeating what he had said then, putting every ounce of affection and sincerity he could in the reassurance no absolution was needed. Pure relief and joy replaced Boromir's desolation, and Sam appeared beside Frodo, broad face beaming his approval. He spoke, unheard by Merry, though he could well imagine Sam's kindness. Boromir smiled then, accepting the truth of his forgiveness.
Frodo and Sam returned the smile, and the light surrounding them brightened, glowing so radiantly that it hurt to look at them before fading so that only a faint outline of the light that brought them remained. That shifted, lengthened, grew until Faramir stood before Boromir. The joy in his expression matched the brilliance that had taken Sam and Frodo. Boromir leaped to his feet and took his brother in a huge hug, laughing and crying all at once.
Shaking, Faramir hid his face in Boromir's shoulder. One hand petting his brother's hair, Boromir held him tightly, whispering to him in a way that Merry thought must be soothing and comforting, if he could but hear. But it seemed he was to be visual witness only to these reunions, and though he felt cheated, he reluctantly admitted to himself that it was only right for Boromir to have what privacy he could for his farewells. The brothers spoke long, but eventually Faramir pulled away from his shelter, knuckling his eyes like a child to dry his tears. Boromir cupped Faramir's face in his palms and spoke intently to him one last time, winning a wan smile. Faramir nodded his agreement to whatever Boromir had asked of him.
As Frodo and Sam had, Faramir filled with light to be taken back into it, and then was gone except for the pang of tears at the back of Merry's eyes. By now Merry expected another member of the Fellowship to appear, but he was surprised yet again when both Gimli and Legolas came into being. It seemed Boromir felt the same, though he greeted them readily - and eagerly - enough. It puzzled Merry for a moment what they would need to resolve with the Man, but at the dawning happiness on Boromir's face, he hoped that they were telling him about their plans to help rebuild Gondor to glory. He had questions, so many questions for them, which they answered willingly and at length.
Beating down his impatience, for surely his turn to be with Boromir would be soon, Merry sighed in guilty relief when the light reclaimed Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn took their place, shining almost as radiantly as Frodo had, and for the first time Merry could see him for the King we would be. Gladness suffusing his features, as if he took the same meaning from the changes in Aragorn as Merry did, Boromir offered up his empty palms, fingers curling lightly, as if holding a sword.
Aragorn clasped Boromir's forearms as a brother greeting brother would, using the grip to pull him close for a brother's embrace. For the first time Merry found himself grateful for the silence imposed upon him. What passed between the two men as they spoke seemed so solemn, of such great import to them both, that he felt as if he were trespassing on a moment as intimate as an open-mouthed kiss. In the end, though, both parted with an air of contentment and peace, stepping away slowly, fingertips loitering even as Aragorn blossomed into light.
The restraints holding Merry melted away with a trickle of warmth, and he raced for Boromir, not surprised to hear the slap of Hobbit feet on hard floors echoing his own footsteps. Flinging himself into Boromir's arms, he clung to him with all four limbs, effortlessly accommodating Pippin as he did the same. He scattered kisses over Boromir's face and neck, not caring when he bumped into Pip trying to claim the same spot.
Voice thick with a mad mix of emotions, Boromir gasped, "Oh, how I feared you walked the dark paths as I did, your lives taken too son by those orcs."
"They thought one of us to be the Ring-bearer," Pippin blurted.
"We escaped before they discovered differently," Merry put in.
The two of them traded the tale of the adventures back and forth between kisses, bubbling out details, correcting each other, and backtracking to try to explain points they missed. Boromir sat down with one in each arm, clearly not taking much from their chatter, and just as clearly not caring. Bit by bit words fell away, mouth met mouth and lingered, hunger and loved traded in equal parts.
Panting, Boromir broke away enough to ask, "How long? However much, I am grateful, though it will not be enough, but I will not start what I will not be allowed to complete."
At the reminder of a potential audience, since it was possible the other members of the Fellowship had been permitted to watch as he had, Merry reluctantly pulled away. "I..."
"A few hours yet," Gandalf murmured, unseen. "And you are quite alone now. The others will sleep and will not wake until morning."
"And when those hours are gone?" Boromir clenched his hands in Merry and Pippin's hair, as if to prevent them from being torn from him.
"Then a fair, green land awaits you, peopled by loved ones who have gone before."
Convulsively Merry hugged Boromir tighter. "And will he wait in turn for those here who love him?"
"Including Hobbits?" Pippin added in a small voice.
"Peregrin Took! Why would a thing as rare and wondrous as genuine love *ever* be allowed to languish until lost and forgotten?" Gandalf harrumphed, and then all sense of him was gone.
"I have no wish to waste what time I have with worries about what is to come." Boromir took Merry's lips again, tongue spearing in deliciously to tease and tantalize.
Merry moaned his pleasure, hardening in his breeches until he ached. When Boromir released him to give Pippin his due, Merry discovered Pip had been busy with clothing, removing all of his own and half of Boromir's. Taking up where Pip left off, Merry soon had them all naked, and coaxed Boromir onto his back with insistent nudges.
Irresistibly drawn, he took another kiss from Boromir, freeing Pippin to slide down Boromir's chest, licking and nibbling as he went. Merry swallowed Boromir's little cries of need, feasting on them like good ale, all but growing drunk on them. Finally Boromir caught Merry's curls in a gentle grip and tugged him away.
"For Mercy's sake, my Sweet Ones, let me sheathe myself in one of you. Mouth or backside, I care not, but I must have you."
Merry exchanged a look with Pip. They had talked of this on more than one occasion, deciding how they would share the Man if any opportunity was given. Without prompting, he joined Pip in laving the erection straining up from Boromir's groin, working in harmony with his Pip as if they had done this together many times. He took the soft crown into his mouth as far as he could manage, groaning his delight at the smooth hardness crowding his throat. At the same time Pip captured one of the orbs in the furred sack below it, mouthing it with great care and satisfaction. Merry bathed his fingers in the abundant wetness from the head of his own maleness and, slipping them down to Boromir's opening, breached him with two fingers knotted together.
Though he shouted his pleasure, Boromir held very still under Merry's ministrations, and Merry decided that just would not do. He would not be treated as a fragile youth; he was more than capable of coping with Boromir's strength. Pippin seemed to be of a mind. He licked his way lower until he was vying with Merry for room at the portal to Boromir's body. With an incoherent shout, Boromir lunged up, driving himself into him, and Merry expertly rode out his mad thrashing without choking or gagging. When his urgency beat at Merry's own, Merry slowly rose away until he was barely tasting the tip. At the same time, he wove all the fingers on his hand together and plunged them deep into Boromir's channel.
Despite that, it was Pippin who broke first. Absently scrubbing his face with the back of his forearm, he knelt up, his maleness a dark plum. "I must, Merry. I must."
Without missing a stroke, Merry scooted up to latch a sucking kiss onto Boromir's pebbled nipple. Pippin seated himself on Boromir's rigid shaft, perhaps not as slowly as he should have, even with the slickness likely still there from their earlier loving. There was nothing but pleasure on his face, though, and he easily matched Boromir's frantic thrusts. Merry watched, stroking himself, not sure what *he* wanted to do with his lovers.
Boromir bit out through clenched teeth, "Let me have that. I want the taste of you."
"Oh, my." Merry scrambled to turn head to toe with him, stretching out over his chest so that he could taste Pippin in turn. Exquisite heat surrounded his shaft, firm lips nuzzling at his stones, and he moaned his pleasure around Pippin's length.
"No," Pip wailed. "No, no, no!" His denial could not stop his body's need; he filled Merry's mouth with his seed, clutching at the back of his head to keep him at his loving.
Swallowing, Merry gingerly suckled Pip through the aftershocks of his finish, grudgingly pulling away as Pip gave out a last breathy, "Oh." Boromir stiffened under them, thighs trembling as he emptied into Pip, releasing Merry's member to roar through his release. The unexpected coolness, as much as the fulfilled lust in that sound, did Merry in, and he spend with hard shocks of ecstatic relief that pummeled him to near unconsciousness.
He regained himself quickly, loath to lose the slightest moment with Boromir. Pippin continued to rock slightly, head thrown back, pulling Merry back toward passion that much faster. Chuckling, Merry pressed a kiss into his navel, tonguing it suggestively, then nipped his way up to his neck.
"More," Pippin demanded. "More."
"Greedy thing," Merry said fondly. From his intent expression, Merry guessed that Pip was internally flexing around the shaft inside him to keep it hard. "I want my turn." He kissed him soundly, not giving him a chance to protest and doing his own bit to encourage the renewal of passion.
"Have I no say?" Boromir asked dryly.
Pippin pulled away from Merry and said, "No!"
Just as promptly, Merry added his own no, and went on with sudden sureness, "For you our parting will be so brief that you will still have the taste of us on your lips when we meet again. For us, years will pass, and I will only have this insatiable Took to make do with." He deliberately turned his tone cheeky. "I mean to make the most of this opportunity."
"Then, by all means," Boromir said, trying to use the same light manner, understanding quite well Merry's will for their union to remain joyful, "let us make certain you are not left unsatisfied."
"My goal was closer to completely exhausted," Merry said smartly, "but sated will have to do."
With mock indignation, Pip said, "Hey, now, what about me?"
Merry kissed him again, leisurely stroking his hardness. "We'll take care of you, of course. Are you terribly sore?"
Looking somewhat surprised, Pip said, "No, not even a twinge."
"He's perfect," Boromir sighed, hips lifting fractionally, as if he wished to do more, but was waiting to be sure his actions would be appreciated.
"Well, close... mph!" Pippin didn't fight the return of Merry's lips to his own, or the nudge to lift up so that Merry could take his place.
After a bit of maneuvering, Pippin lay on Boromir's chest, tormenting the buds there with nips and suckling while Merry straddled Boromir's groin, the long maleness sliding across the cleft of his bottom. He pulled Pip close and leaned over him, fitting the head of his shaft to Pip's center, delighted to find it rosy with use, but not abused. Stretching out an arm to comb his fingers throughh Boromir's beard and trace the outline of his mouth, Merry locked his free hand onto Pip's shoulder.
"Thrust," he ordered Boromir. "Hard enough to send me into Pip as you do."
"Yes, yes, as if you're taking both of us at once." Pip squirmed, making sure that Merry was placed just right.
Not moving, Boromir said, "Oil. We need oil to ease the way."
"Merry and I made love earlier," Pippin assured him. "We're both still slick from it."
"Insatiable, indeed," Boromir murmured, palming the cheeks of Merry's backside open and entering him with a steady, even stroke. At the same time, Merry pulled Pip back toward him, entering him as momentum carried him forward.
It was one of the most thrilling moments of his life, nearly surpassing the first time he took Pip. Entering and entered, tightness surrounding the needy core of him while nagging emptiness was filled near to bursting. Rational thought left Merry, leaving only sensation. He reveled in it, rocked between his two lovers, hands and mouth roaming as far as he could reach. Barely aware of the wild noises spilling from them, Merry had just enough wit to reach around and take Pip in hand.
An unbearable, wonderful tension built in his middle, spreading through every part of him, winding ever tighter until he thought he might crumble from the strain. Yet he couldn't, wouldn't, stop moving in concert with his lovers. If anything, he met Pip and Boromir's strokes with growing force, loving the rosy burn in his skin where it met theirs.
Just when the pleasure moved too close to pain to be sure of the difference, Merry broke. Too overwhelmed to so much as whimper, he shuddered through the spasms of his release, clutching Pippin to him as an anchor in the maelstrom of ecstasy. From far away, he heard his name shouted in a deep, hoarse voice, then his insides were bathed in soothing heat that coaxed another jolt of pleasure from him. A moment later, a surge of seed over his fist and a shaking sigh told him that Pip had not been left behind.
Somehow he stayed atop Boromir until the last murmur of love and relief. Merry tumbled to one side, only to be swept close with a long arm until his head was pillowed on Boromir's left shoulder, Pippin on the right. They softly whispered endearments and bits of praise to each other as they regained their breath, and moved onto subjects of no consequence, as lovers will. Merry confessed to the disaster of his first attempt at smoking pipeweed; laughing, Boromir told them of a prank he and Faramir had played on a fighting instructor when they were little more than babes out of diapers.
For all his will not to, and his determination to have another go with Boromir before they parted, Merry began to nod off, jerking himself awake each time he moved toward slumber. Eventually he could fight no longer; he drifted into sleep, listening to the powerful heart under his ear and Pippin's soft snores. If he dreamed, he kept no memory of it, though he held onto the sound of Gandalf's voice murmuring, "Be at peace, son of Gondor. Be at peace with the knowledge of deeds well done and a spirit well-loved by those who know how to love well, indeed." finis